“Yes, and he says it’s pneumonia, and a very bad case,” answered the mother, with almost a hopeless expression.
Bob learned that Tom came home two days before thoroughly wet from a cold northeast rain; that he had a chill soon after going to bed; that he grew rapidly worse throughout the night, and that in the morning he had a high fever. Mrs. Flannery called in a doctor, who, after a careful examination, pronounced the case pneumonia. He left medicine which seemed to afford temporary relief. In the night, however, Tom grew worse, and during the following forenoon became delirious.
“Don’t you know me, Tom?” said Bob feelingly, as he stood by the bedside, and held the sufferer’s hand in his own.
“All the evening papers—Sun, Mail and Express, Telegram—big accident—tremendous loss of life! Which will you have, sir?”
And this was Tom’s wild reply, poor boy. Now that his companion, whom he wanted to see so much, and for whom he had such admiration, had at last come to him, the sick boy did not know him; but supposing he had a customer for his papers, he rattled on in true newsboy fashion. Bob tried again and again to rouse his mind by referring to Herbert Randolph, and to scenes familiar and interesting, but his efforts were unsuccessful. At length his stout young heart gave way, and with an expression of the keenest grief he dropped into a chair beside the bed, burying his face in the pure white spread that covered his young companion, and wept tears of sincere sorrow.
tom flannery in delirium.
Presently he withdrew from the sick room, and after a brief discussion with Mrs. Flannery hurried away to the doctor whom she had previously called in to see Tom. The physician promised to visit the sick boy again within an hour. Having this assurance from the doctor, Bob then turned his steps towards his own room to acquaint Herbert Randolph with Tom’s illness. But to Bob’s surprise he found on arriving there that the young Vermonter had not yet reached home.
“’Twas nine o’clock when I passed the Tribune building,” said Bob to himself rather anxiously, “and he hain’t come yet. I hope nothing’s gone bad with him, though, for we’ve got trouble enough on our hands already, with Tom sick, and goin’ to die, I’m afraid. I wish I could do something for him; he would do anything in the world for me, Tom would.”